


the act of loss

by enamuko



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: F/M, i am in trash ship hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 20:14:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6298669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enamuko/pseuds/enamuko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s so very difficult to rewire your brain, to remind it that someone is no longer your enemy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the act of loss

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to tumblr's dusktactician, without whom my love for this Actual Garbage Man wouldn't be nearly as strong. Thank you for plunging me into the depths of shipping Hell, and for letting me drag you down with me.

 

There was something so very comforting about being in the dark, and it wasn't simply the fact that he was from Nohr. Moon- and starlight tended to bother him less than sunlight (one very important reason among many he had never found much of a reason to visit Hoshido), and people tended to be mostly asleep and therefore unable to bother him at night. He had always gotten some of his best work done in the dead hours of the night, long past when the rest of the castle had squirreled themselves away to bed, enjoying the quiet and solitude of his study—or, if he was feeling more adventurous, the labs.

Perhaps that was why he found himself awake in the witching hours, reading by the flickering light of a lantern he had scrounged from the spare supplies. With most of his library and all of his research equipment worlds away, it was the closest thing he could manage to his usual nightly behaviour, even if he knew it would leave him exhausted for the morning march. Having never been much of a morning person and quite used to operating on a bare minimum of sleep, he wasn't particularly worried about it.

Iago felt the bed stir and started. Sharing a bed with another person was still something he was struggling to get used to. _Most_ of this situation was something he was still struggling to get used to. Sharing not only a bed but a living space, a routine.. an emotional connection. All of it very odd, and more than a little unsettling.

His eyes continued to skim over the page when he felt the bed stir again, and sighed. Learning new things about your partner was supposed to be a fun and interesting experience at the start of a relationship, or so said people who claimed to know more about romance than he did. Largely he was convinced they had little idea of what they were talking about. Discovering his lady love's habit of restless sleep punctuated by periodic and often debilitating nightmares was hardly his idea of a good time.

Reaching over, Iago brushed away a stray lock of hair that had fallen into Corrin's face in her sleep without the confinement of her usual hairband to keep it in check. At least she seemed to be sleeping contentedly, if not peacefully. Perhaps she was simply doing that thing dogs did and was running in her sleep. The thought amused him enough to coax out a chuckle as he tucked her hair back behind her ear, taking a momentary break from his reading to admire the softness of her expression in the flickering light of his lantern, the gentle pale curve of her neck—

—and the thought hit him like a bolt of lightning, how _easy_ it would be to pass a blade across her throat like this. How quiet the kill would be with her sleeping so peacefully, if he could make the cut _just_ right. It wouldn't even have to be quick, really—it could be slow and agonizing as long as he made sure she wouldn't be able to cry out for a healer; he certainly had enough anatomical knowledge to pull it off. And no one would know until Jakob came to wake her in the morning with her breakfast and coffee, by which time he would undoubtedly already be long gone.

His brain was halfway done racing through his potential escape plan by the time the bile started rising in his throat and the nausea made his stomach roll. The image of Corrin peacefully sleeping beside him overlaid and contrasted with otherwise pristine sheets soaked in a pool of blood, throat parted like a fish's gills—it was a sudden sense of dissociation that his brain and body were unable to handle in equal measure.

He tried not to _stumble_ out of bed, lest he wake Corrin and have to lie through his teeth about what was bothering him. He had done so before, would no doubt do so again, but each time he did so it felt a little less like second nature and a little more like he was doing something _wrong_.

Pulling a cloak around his shoulders that he grabbed off of a rack by the door—he _was_ in his bedclothes, after all—he made his way out of their shared room, holding on tightly to his composure. Perhaps his hands shook a _little_ as he descended the ladder (damn the place being a _tree fort_ of all things, he had half a mind to have _words_ with that colourful flying rat about it) but that was neither here nor there, and it was cold out after all.

He managed to get to the ground and into a nearby patch of grass before he retched at the very least.

 

* * *

 

It wasn't like Iago thought it was _wrong_ of him to think about such things, in regards to most of the army. He was hardly a slave to his impulsive thoughts; just because he thought about it, didn't mean he was going to take up the mantle of assassin any time soon. It was simply the fact that in Garon's service he'd had to find more ways of discretely dispatching unwanted people than most assassins. It was a difficult part of his brain to shut off, and mostly he didn't bother because at the very least it primed him to point out the potential weaknesses in their troupe. He was hardly the _only_.. _'imaginative_ ' individual that Garon employed, after all.

Corrin, though—Corrin was a different story. The rest of the army was constantly on guard around him and he was sure if it _wasn't_ for her, he would have been murdered in his bed within a day of joining. If he _did_ try to kill them, every one of them would expect it. Every one would be prepared.

Corrin _trusted_ him. That was, perhaps, the most terrifying thing he could think of.

 

* * *

 

_"Iago!"_

_He was sure he would never be used to his voice being called with such enthusiasm. People generally weren't_ excited _to see him; his presence tended to be an accepted and overlooked thing, or else a reason to sneer rather than smile. But when_ she _greeted him, it was always with one of those same small smiles she greeted the rest of the army with. As if he was just another soldier, rather than a man who had tried on multiple occasions to kill her._

 _"Princess." It wasn't as though he_ encouraged _this behaviour, either. While not quite as grating as the young Elise, perhaps because Corrin at least deigned to carry herself with an air of maturity on most occasions, her sunny disposition frustrated him. How a woman in charge of an entire army could be so_ happy _on a daily basis was beyond him, and he had plenty of experience being in charge of an army. "Did you need something?"_

 _"Nothing specifically, no. I just wanted to check in and make sure you were settling in alright. I know it must be hard for you, joining us like this.." The look on her face bordered on pained, as though she felt_ bad _about it. As though convincing him to join their pointless charade of resistance wasn't a massive accomplishment, but rather something to regret simply because it might make him_ feel bad _._

 _He would never understand her, of_ that _he was convinced._

_"You needn't worry about me. Best for you to focus your attentions on the rest of your army and leave me to my peace and quiet."_

_"You're a strange one, Iago," she said, and laughed as though he was trying to joke with her. "But if you want me to leave you alone, I'm not going to keep bothering you."_

_He stared at her and sighed, feeling an inexplicable sense of discomfort from the vaguely hurt look on her face._

_"..I didn't say that. But I'm afraid if you're looking for an interesting conversational partner, you've come to the wrong place. I've never had any talent for small talk."_

_"Heh, not to worry. I'm no good at it either."_

_"Lovely."_

 

* * *

 

"Are you feeling alright? You haven't said a word all night, and you hardly ate a bite at dinner."

Corrin reached over to hold her hand to his forehead, as if feeling to see if he had a fever. With a discontented grumble he smacked her hand away.

"I am not a _child_ , Corrin," he muttered, returning his attention to his book. She huffed, which quickly transformed into a sigh.

"Right. Sorry to bother you, then."

It wasn't like he'd undergone some miraculous personality change overnight. He was the same as he had ever been, he simply had.. different priorities, these days. Corrin still frustrated him as much as she ever had, what with her blind optimism and refusal to see the hard truths in the world around her—but he had come to see what people saw in her. Why so many pledged to follow her even to the death.

How he, of all people, had come to be counted in that number.

"There's no shame in having trouble sleeping, you know." He hadn't realized she had walked away until he heard her voice carry from across the room. "It's not like the conditions are ideal for a good night's rest these days. It happens to the best of us."

His eyes wandered off of the page to follow her voice, coming to an abrupt stop at the sight of her with her back turned to him, bare except for her smallclothes. Her armour was lying in a pile next to her, along with the rest of her clothing—those fairly useless leggings that for some reason had the groin cut out, her cape, the protective clothes she wore under her armour to keep from chafing.

Normally the sight would have simply flustered him, for all the intimacy of undressing in front of another person that he still wasn't quite familiar with—if not for the fact that his eyes were immediately drawn to the scars between her shoulderblades, with the lingering question of how many of those had been left by _his_ machinations.

That same sense of bile rising into his throat was quick to surface, as his mind raced through a 'helpful' recounting of just how many times she could have easily died by his hand if not for her luck and resourcefulness.

"I think it's about time I took in some fresh air," he murmured, voice flatter than intended as he rose fast enough from his seat to make his stomach churn even worse. Corrin turned around in the middle of tying her hair up, just in time to catch the not at all convincing sight of him scurrying out of the room.

"Iago? What—"

Stopping to listen to the concern in her voice would have been a moot point, so he didn't bother.

 

* * *

 

_"_ _I love you, you know."_

_At first he was certain he had heard her incorrectly. He had to have been, after all. After he realized she was sitting and waiting patiently for his response, staring at him expectantly, he realized he hadn't._

_"Please don't lie to me, Corrin." He snorted, continuing to shelve the books he'd been organizing when she had entered his tent. "Joking like that doesn't suit you."_

_"I'm not joking."_

_Maybe it was the fact that she wasn't wearing any shoes, but Iago could swear that Corrin was able to move silently when it suited her. He only realized she had moved when he felt her hand over his, gently moving it away from the books so she could clasp his fingers in her own. His entire body went tense, startled and confused as he was, and he was disgusted by his own lack of self control before he was able to clamp down on his reaction._

_"Princess," he sighed, with an air of vague superiority, "I appreciate that you've lived most of your life in a fortress sheltered away from the realities of the world, but you don't understand the gravity of what you're saying."_

_"You're wrong, Iago. I know I might not have much life experience in terms of how long I've been out of my fortress, but I think if anything being launched into a terrible war as soon as I left my safe haven has taught me what's truly important in a short amount of time." Her gloved fingers squeezed his long pale ones, and while part of him was tempted to yank his hand away from her, another part was tempted to squeeze back. He elected to do neither, simply twitching his fingers in her grip. "I realize that the fact that the two of us have been getting along quiet well doesn't really mean anything.. that you've probably just been nice to me to be polite." He almost laughed at that. The idea of him doing much of anything just for the sake of being polite when he didn't_ need _to be was rather amusing, after all. "But I thought you deserved to know what I was feeling."_

_"Princess, how do you know I haven't just been getting close to you in order to gather information? You have no real reason not to think I'm a traitor. I could just be waiting for the right chance to stab you in the back and return to King Garon."_

_"Easy," she replied, squeezing his fingers again. "I know because I trust you."_

 

* * *

 

If there was one thing he was good at, it seemed, it was attempting to squander any kind of good will that came his way. First he had betrayed his own deeply ingrained loyalties to Garon to join Corrin's insane crusade, for reasons he still didn't completely understand. Now his mind insisted on reminding him nearly constantly of all the ways he could possibly rid himself of the best thing that had happened to him as a result—quite possibly the _best_ thing that had ever happened to him, if the warmth he felt in his chest every time he saw Corrin smile or heard her call his name was any indication.

"You're staring oddly at me again."

With his mind straying into unpleasant and strange places, it was hard to remember sometimes that his private space wasn't _quite_ as private these days as it had been in the past. He looked down at Corrin, laying next to him in bed and half tangled in the silk sheets. He had thought she was asleep, which was apparently _not_ the case, though the half-lidded sleepy look in her eyes indicated that was a rather recent development.

"You know, most men would say they were simply admiring the view, or something similar."

"Yes, well." He closed his book and set it aside, leaning over to snuff out the lantern sitting on the bedside table. "You didn't choose 'most men', you chose me. And you'll just have to live with that, won't you?"

"Whoa, hey." Her voice cracked with half-sleep, but she still reached up to take his hand and squeeze it gently. "I didn't mean it as an insult, Iago. Don't ever think I would want you to be anything but what you are."

 _You don't know what you're saying_. Of course he couldn't _say_ that. If he told her what thoughts had been plaguing him lately she would never trust him again. Even a naive individual like her could only handle so much, and he wasn't about to give up the only thing that seemed to make his own betrayal worthwhile, particularly not for the sake of pointless honesty.

"You should at least try to sleep. Don't think I haven't noticed how tired you are lately." She laughed, her voice slightly hoarse. "You're bound to get sick at this rate."

He sighed, knowing a losing battle when he was facing one down, and slid under the sheets alongside her. Much to his surprise she shifted to wrap her arms around him, drawing his head to rest against her collarbone.

"You can tell me anything, you know. I know you're not convinced, but I did know what I was doing when I told you I loved you." With one hand she started to idly play with the subtle curls at the end of his hair. "I knew this wasn't going to be simple, by any stretch."

Iago breathed in sharply, caught off guard by that remark. His arms found their way around her in turn, his hands travelling steadily up her back until they came to her shoulders. He dug his long nails into her skin, holding her as close to him as he was sure either of them could manage. Corrin was a woman who put a great deal of stock into physical affection and was less inclined to think anything was wrong if he showed the same inclination. Of course that was the reason.

"You're not allowed to get yourself killed in this war, I hope you know," he sighed into her shoulder, turning his head to allow himself room to breathe.

"Is that what's been bothering you? Don't worry," she laughed. "I don't have any intentions of doing anything to get myself killed any time soon."

He thought about the way she so easily showed her bare throat and back to him, about how readily she declared she trusted him.

_Or so you think._

 


End file.
